Stuck on the Puzzle
by ciaofay
Summary: Jasmine has a strained family life and an odd past. However, the past keeps coming back to haunt her when she meets Sherlock Holmes and John Watson- who seem insistent on uncovering her past. At the same time, Sherlock finds it almost impossible to impress Jasmine and his interest is entirely focused on her. But will Sherlock find himself more interested in Jasmine or her family?
1. Diamonds

**Chapter One: Diamonds**

"Keys, now."

"Excuse me?"

"I need the keys to your basement."

"I can't just give you the keys to the basement!"

"I need them, now!"

"Sorry, can I just interrupt? We're with the police. There is a convicted burglar in your basement."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh, you'd best believe us. Where's your boss? They can't all be as incompetent as you."

"That's really rude, actually. She's out. I can't give you the keys to the basement because there is jewellery down there! I'm not stupid- I know you'll just steal it all."

"Don't even think about pressing the emergency button!"

"Too late."

_**Two Hours Previously **_

Jasmine hated her job. She didn't just hate it- she hated it with a passion. There was nothing satisfying whatsoever about spending almost nine hours in a boiling hot jewellers, selling jewellery to ungrateful and wealthy idiots who were just plain rude. Especially since she'd just finished University, leaving with a first in a degree of law. Yet, she still couldn't get a job- and was consequently still in the same job she had been in for the four years she'd lived away from home.

However, this one apparently mundane Tuesday – Tuesday's are always mundane – her job suddenly became interesting.

It had started as normal- wake up, shower, get dressed, have breakfast and three cups of coffee, walk to work and spend the day wishing she was elsewhere. Her boss had ordered her around as usual, and had ditched her during their busiest hour to go shopping – as usual. Jasmine hated it when she did that. Not only was she left alone to tend a jewellers- which in itself was a bit of a hazard, jewellers are often trashed and shop assistants often held at gun point- but it meant she had to deal with obnoxious and ignorant people by the dozen with no one to help her.

It also meant she couldn't nip to make a cup of coffee.

Jasmine's lunch break was supposed to have been two hours ago- with it now being three in the afternoon. She felt absolutely wretched, and the boring and droll classical music playing in the background wasn't helping much either. She rang her boss for the fifth time, wondering when she would return so she could go for her lunch hour- finally. Luckily for her, the shop had been quiet for about half an hour and so Jasmine found it acceptable to start reading about a local court case that was coming up. Being a former law student, she found all court cases fascinating- even the most mundane and average cases of parking tickets and speeding fines. To her, it was justice in action.

She quickly moved on from the case to the novel she'd been reading. It was a trashy romance- just something to keep her going at work, to try and shorten the long hours trapped in that sweltering little shop.

It was during a particularly steamy encounter between the lead lady and the hot bastard of a man that you knew the lead lady would end up ditching for the quiet, sweet nobody next door- that the two men sprinted into the shop demanding keys for the basement.

The basement was even hotter than upstairs, if that can be believed. It also stored all of the jewellery that wasn't on display, and all of their most expensive pieces, culminating in what must have been close to five hundred thousand pounds.

"Keys, now." The tall man with black curly hair and sharp cheekbones demanded, panting heavily as he finally stopped running. He was leaning against the counter, his chest heaving as he tried to gather his breath.

"Excuse me?" Jasmine asked, slightly shocked. She stood abruptly from her seat and put her book down, open on the page she was reading and causing the spine to bend.

"I need the keys to your basement!" The man exclaimed, motioning to the door that led to the basement to the right of Jasmine. Next to him, a shorter man with dark blonde hair shook his head at who could only be his friend.

"I can't just give you the keys to the basement!" Jasmine insisted, edging closer to the panic button under the till.

"I need them, now!" The rude man roared, also edging closer to the till (for it was by the door.)

"Sorry, can I just interrupt? We're with the police. There is a convicted burglar in your basement." The shorter man butted in, also panting as he tried to mediate the situation.

Jasmine frowned at his sincere face but remained staunch.

"I don't believe you." She informed him, her fingers inching along the wooden counter until they met the plastic of the panic button which would call in security and the police. For some reason, she refrained from pressing it.

The tall man rolled his eyes and looked like he wanted to throttle her.

"Oh, you'd best believe us." He breathed. Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "Where's your boss? They can't all be as incompetent as you." He claimed, peering around the counter to see if anyone else was with the girl in front of him.

"That's really rude, actually. She's out. I can't give you the keys to the basement because there is jewellery down there! I'm not stupid- I know you'll steal it all." Jasmine said, putting her foot down on the whole matter.

"Don't even think about pressing that emergency button!" The tall man exclaimed, shooting a hand out as if that would stop her.

But she had already done it, and the metal shutters by the door slammed down- imprisoning the two men in her shop.

"Too late." She said, locking the counter to prevent the men from storming behind it and forcing past her.

"Oh, for God sake!" The tall man roared, while the shorter man simply took a seat and waited.

"I told you this would happen, didn't I? I actually said- '_Sherlock, let's wait for the police!_'" The shorter man exclaimed, shaking his head again.

"The police." The tall man scoffed. "The police are about as useful as she is." He pointed to Jasmine, who resisted the urge to throw her book at him.

It was only moments later until security opened the make-shift prison and walked in, guns in their hands. They looked rather let down by the two men waiting for them.

"Oh, for God sake. It's them." He said, putting his gun back in his holster and swiftly speaking into his comms device.

"Sherlock Holmes- what the hell do you think you're doing?" Another of the guards demanded, also putting his gun away.

"He was demanding keys for the basement- which has all of our jewellery in it." Jasmine explained, becoming rather uncertain of herself as she watched the security guards' rather cavalier behaviour.

"There happens to be a man by the name of Charles Dimmock down in the basement. You might have heard of him." Sherlock said, becoming all smug when he noticed the panicked looks on the guard's faces when they heard that name.

"Who the hell is Charles Dimmock?" Jasmine demanded, becoming frustrated.

"He's a thief. He's stolen millions in his time. And he's somehow escaped from prison and is currently robbing your basement." Sherlock said, standing right at the edge of the counter and staring right into Jasmine's face- trying to unnerve her. Once again, she remained staunch.

"It's okay. Let them down there. Sherlock, we'll follow behind." The security guard said, and Jasmine reluctantly opened the door.

"I'll have to go with you; you need my ID to get past the door." Jasmine explained, grabbing the keys from under the counter and leading the way out. The tall man and the shorter man followed, leaving a few guards to mind the shop.

"As soon as you unlock the door- you need to get behind us. He will be armed." The shorter man warned, and he felt sorry for her when he saw her little face drop. He had to admire her courage, however, for she continued typing her password in.

The door clicked when she finished and she handed the tall man the key to the next door. The big metal gate swung open, making a nice entryway to the sturdy wooden door. The taller man unlocked it and slowly opened it. The shorter man followed his friend, aiming his gun around him. In fact, both of them had guns.

Jasmine stayed outside, watching them anxiously.

They soon disappeared around the corner and out of Jasmine's line of vision. The lights inside slowly flickered on, the bulbs dinging as they switched on. She heard their footsteps, slow but sure, making their way further into the big basement. And then she heard a familiar creak.

It was the bathroom window. Their bathroom was also in the basement, hidden away around another corner. And it had a window- for safety reasons. It was there in case of a fire.

She jogged around to the other side of the building, which jutted out at the bottom of the stairs leading down from the shop. And sure enough, she saw the small window wide open with a man's leg dangling out of it.

"Hey!" Jasmine cried, jumping up at the window to try and push the leg back in- sure that if she kept him inside, the two police men would find him.

"Get off me!" The man roared, kicking his leg about to try and break free of Jasmine's grasp on his ankle.

It was the taller man. Jasmine let go, and watched sheepishly as he climbed out of the window.

"I'm following his footsteps. What the hell were you doing pushing me back inside?!" He demanded -his hair in disarray and a small scratch by his mouth which was bleeding.

Jasmine shrugged, and the man narrowed his eyes at her. "I thought you were the thief." She explained.

The man shook his head at her and flattened his hair- which was already quite unruly. He then pulled a torch from his pocket and turned it on, pointing it at the ground where quite visible white, powdery footsteps could be seen.

"What's on his feet?" Jasmine asked as the two of them slowly followed the footsteps.

"It's talcum powder. It was in a bowl on the windowsill of the bathroom- used in a bowl of pot pourri. He stood in it while he was struggling out of the window." The man explained, suddenly bending down and pulling out a magnifying glass to further examine the footprints.

"And look- tiny specks of brick dust. Red brick dust. Must be from the walls of the prison he escaped." He muttered, before standing up and quickly following the footsteps.

Jasmine watched him for a moment before jogging to keep up.

The shorter man was jogging to keep up too. "Yeah, thanks for waiting, Sherlock!" He exclaimed sarcastically.

"Your name's Sherlock?" Jasmine laughed slightly, swinging her arms idly as she followed the two men.

"Yes. And?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing." Jasmine shrugged, hiding a smile. "It's just an unusual name." She added.

Sherlock glanced at her momentarily before shaking his head for what must have been the tenth time and continuing in his path.

"Sherlock, John!" A man exclaimed from behind them. A grey haired man carrying a gun and a comms. device was following them.

"Ah, Graham. How lovely of you to join us at last." Sherlock said sarcastically. Graham rolled his eyes.

"It's not Graham."

"What is it then?" Jasmine asked, getting caught up in the conversation. The man glanced at her.

"Who's this?" He asked, gesturing to the girl.

"She works in the shop." John explained, smiling politely at the girl.

"It's Greg." The man nodded, also smiling politely.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock demanded, turning around abruptly and glancing at the detective.

"I'm sure, Sherlock." Greg laughed. "Right, come on. Where is the bastard? You won't guess how he escaped." He grinned satisfactorily.

John sighed. "You've walked right into that one. Why say that?" John asked helplessly. Greg's face had fallen when he realised what was coming.

"I- I don't know." He admitted. Jasmine frowned, unsure of what was going on.

"Give me five minutes in his cell and I will have it down to specific times." Sherlock insisted, peering around a corner to make sure Charles Dimmock wasn't stood right there ready to blow their brains out. As it happened, he wasn't.

"I think we'll pass." Greg replied.

"A case of stolen identity and a new and rather easily bribed member of staff." Sherlock said. Greg closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Not now, Sherlock." He begged.

"You challenged me." Sherlock said without hesitation.

"Okay, astound us all later. Right now, I want to get him back in his cell with another hefty ten years added on to his sentence." Greg replied.

"It would be more like twelve years." Jasmine corrected. Greg stared at her and she quickly averted her eyes and continued walking.

"Jasmine!" A shrill voice exclaimed. A woman in a power suit and bad frizzy hair was rushing down the stairs and quickly approaching them all.

"Hi Hannah." Jasmine said rather timidly. Hannah stormed over, heels clacking furiously on the dusty stone floor.

"If you could be a bit quieter." Greg urged Hannah, not wanting Charles to hear.

"What are you doing with my employee? Why the hell are there strangers minding my shop?" Hannah asked first of Greg and then of Jasmine.

"There is somebody robbing your basement. We are detectives and we're trying to track him down. Jasmine is being a great help." Greg said, and Sherlock snorted derisively.

"Is she?" Sherlock enquired. Jasmine glared at him.

"Oh!" Hannah shrieked, rushing to her storeroom door and running inside.

"Don't do that! You're now tampering with evidence!" Greg exclaimed, following her and attempting to coax her back out.

Meanwhile, Sherlock and John continued walking, following the footsteps avidly. Jasmine followed. They all stopped still when the footprints abruptly stopped. They'd been fading for a while, and that was the point that his footsteps could no longer be seen. Sherlock stood up straight and looked around, desperately trying to find a clue as to where Charles would be hiding.

"He's stolen my diamonds!" They heard Hannah cry from the storeroom.

"Jasmine- is there anywhere down here that would be good to hide?" Sherlock suddenly turned to Jas and questioned her. She thought for a moment before turning around and trying to track the direction they would need to go.

"Just our luck. She's awful with directions as well, John." Sherlock muttered.

"Do you _want_ my help?!" Jasmine demanded, glaring at Sherlock. He shrugged, and she continued.

"This way. There's a big disused section. It _was_ the original basement but then they expanded it into this about five years ago. That little original section is disused now because they found asbestos in the walls. They've cordoned it off. You're not allowed in. I reckon that's where he's hiding." Jasmine explained, leading them through the tunnelled system of the basement.

"I think it's down here." She muttered, laughing sheepishly as she took a sharp turn.

John grinned at Sherlock's annoyed expression. "See. He must be in here. There's usually a big padlock on the door." She said, gesturing to the wooden door similar to the one for her storeroom.

"Wait out here, Jasmine." John ordered, as the two men got their guns again and pointed them straight ahead.

Sherlock cautiously opened the door and walked in, once again followed by John.

This time, the lights did not flicker on and the noise was tremendous. It was a big lofty room, with nothing in it at all and so all sound echoed incredibly loudly. She could hear their cries and grunts as they supposedly fought with Charles Dimmock.

"Are- Are you all right?" Jasmine called anxiously, sticking her head in the door. She could see a hunched over figure with someone behind it. It seemed as if whoever the figure was- he was being strangled. She didn't know whether to go in or not. She decided to try and help, figuring that if one of them died during the fight, she'd never forgive herself for not at least _checking _on them.

She wandered into the storeroom and tried the lights. Miraculously, they switched on. The figures suddenly became bathed in light, revealing Sherlock being strangled by Charles Dimmock and John out cold on the floor. Jasmine sprinted over to help Sherlock, who was clutching furiously at Charles' hands, trying to free his neck of them. His face was also tingeing purple, and he was choking in coughs and splutters. Jasmine pounced at Charles, jumping onto his back and clinging around _his_ neck, choking him just as much as he was choking Sherlock.

Luckily for Sherlock, Charles' grip slackened as he started to struggle against Jasmine, and Sherlock was able to wriggle out of his grasp.

It was now Charles who was red in the face and choking, and Jasmine refused to let go.

"Keep hold of him." Sherlock urged, his voice still coming out in heavy exhalations. Jasmine did as she was told, and Sherlock abruptly pulled his head back and head butted Charles in the face. Charles looked shocked for a second before dropping to the floor.

"Do I let go now?" Jasmine asked.

"Yes, unless you want to murder him." Sherlock said calmly, his voice still quite wobbly.

Jas let go and jumped back up, grinning at Sherlock. "That was good!" She exclaimed, and Sherlock actually managed a smirk at her enthusiasm, rubbing his neck which was already showing up red.

They'd both forgotten about John on the floor, but Sherlock soon remembered his best friend and went to check on him. Jasmine was tasked with the chore of ensuring that Charles didn't wake up.

It wasn't long before Greg and Hannah rushed into the store room, having figured out exactly where they'd headed to. What they found was Sherlock reviving John, who was sitting up groggily and blinking against the harsh false lights overhead. They also found Jasmine sat on Charles Dimmock's chest, whom happened to be passed out.

Luckily for Jas, Charles _did_ wake up and so she _wasn't_ charged with man slaughter. She and Sherlock were bundled into the back of an ambulance with bright red blankets wrapped around their shoulders. John was being checked over, the knock to his head had been quite bad and he may have had concussion. And Charles had been checked over too, before being given the all clear and taken back to prison- where he would have another court case on his hands regarding his escape and attempted burglary.

Hannah had been given her diamonds back- and Jasmine had for some reason been fired. Hannah had said that she hadn't shown the correct levels of responsibility given to her, and had been reckless with company property. Jasmine had told her where to go, and was currently feeling a lot of satisfaction. It wouldn't be too long, however, before she felt the crippling hand of doubt coming to choke her- as she now had no job.

Jasmine sipped the sweet cup of tea she had been given and smirked at Sherlock's angry face.

"What's wrong with you?" She asked, swinging her legs back and forth out the back of the ambulance.

"I hate these blankets. We're not in shock!" Sherlock roared, shrugging his off.

"I am." Jasmine refuted, putting her tea down and leaning forwards to peer out of the ambulance and check on John- whom she had been worried about.

"You're shocked by your ability to nearly take a life. It's nothing new. We all have the ability to kill." Sherlock murmured, standing up out of the ambulance and gazing around him at the dozens of police officers milling around the shopping centre they were parked outside of.

"Well I know that. I'm not stupid." Jasmine insisted for the second time that day.

"No, you're not are you?" Sherlock mused, gazing at her. "What is it? A degree in law. _And_ it was a first." He looked mildly impressed and Jasmine glared at him.

"How did you know that?" She demanded.

"Your intimate knowledge of the law… You mentioned that Charles would get twelve extra years inside, and not ten. Yet, you're not employed in a law company. You must have studied then- a law degree. I guessed it was a first judging by how many times you insist that you're not stupid. You clearly don't anyone to think of you as dim, despite the fact that I witnessed you reading a badly written romance novel and you don't even know basic directions." Sherlock rambled. He expected her to look impressed, but he found her to have tuned out. "Are you even listening to me?" He demanded. Well, that was a first.

"Sorry. I phased out." She muttered. "You talk a _lot_." She laughed.

"You mean you're not impressed?" He asked as she also shrugged her blanket off and hopped from the ambulance.

She shrugged. "Bit boring, really." She admitted. She began walking away, with Sherlock staring after her- gob smacked.

"But I'm impressive! I've got a huge intellect!" He yelled after her.

"So have I!" Jasmine turned briefly, grinning, before continuing in her walking away. Sherlock continued watching her as she hailed a cab and got in, before being driven away. As she drove past, she waved at him. He bitterly looked away, turning his attention towards John instead. At least someone appreciated his huge intellect.


	2. The Adler Effect

**Chapter Two: The Adler Effect**

It had been a fortnight since Jasmine lost her job and she had finally been accepted for an interview. It was only as a receptionist- but it was for a Solicitor's firm. If she got the job, it would be easy for her to work her way up, what with her Degree. Her best friend Olivia had been telling her for months that something good would happen to her- and it would be Jas' big break that she deserved.

Jasmine thought Olivia was fab. Not only was she coming with her to the interview, but she'd booked them a table at an Italian in the city for the same evening. The firm itself was based in Brixton, and Jasmine lived right in the heart of London- meaning she'd have to commute a lot but she knew it would be worth it.

As the two girls stood on the Tube, clutching onto the railings eagerly, Jasmine found someone she recognised.

"Are you okay, Sherlock?" She asked, stunned at the sight of Sherlock Holmes carrying a harpoon and covered in blood.

"Ah, Poppy, was it? No- wait. Daisy. Still not right… Rose? Some kind of plant, anyway." Sherlock fumbled for her name, and Jasmine simply blinked in his direction.

"Oh my God. Are you hurt?" Olivia demanded of the man. Sherlock ignored her.

"Jasmine." He smiled warmly, having successfully remembered her name.

"Jasmine." Jas confirmed, nodding slightly. "Well, good to know you're okay." She smiled, turning away and facing Olivia again. Liv herself had turned pale, staring at the man and praying to God that he wouldn't keel over any second.

"Wait, that's it? You see me covered in blood and you turn away?" Sherlock frowned, edging closer to her. Jasmine shrugged.

"Can't be your blood or you'd be passed out by now. Must be someone else's. You're a detective- it's your job to be covered in someone else's blood. Not that impressive." She shrugged, once again turning back to Liv.

"But the harpoon." Sherlock brandished it, but it was of no use. She wasn't interested.

"It's just a jumped up knife." She called, finding two seats for her and Olivia as someone else stood up. She had to practically drag Olivia over to the seats; her attention was focussed on Sherlock.

"Who the hell is he?!" Sherlock heard the blonde girl demand of Jasmine.

"Just a police man." Jasmine explained, and Sherlock seethed inside.

"I'm a consulting detective!" He roared, and everyone edged even further away from him- which was seemingly impossible considering he already had a ring of around five inches around him which nobody occupied.

"Okay." Jasmine smiled politely, nodding as if she was speaking to a small child.

"Job interview. In… Thirty four minutes. Bradshaw Solicitors in Brixton, twelve minute walk from the Tube station. Applying for a… Receptionist. Hoping to put your Degree to good use." Sherlock said quickly, aware that he was at danger of losing her interest again.

"You heard us talking about it." Jasmine grinned at him.

"I didn't!" Sherlock exclaimed, as if someone had just shot him.

"What, you really knew all of that? How did you know?" Olivia asked, her mouth wide open.

Sherlock's eyes flitted to Olivia. He'd found his new target.

"Right." He smiled. "Best friends. Went to the same primary school _and _high school- you're very comfortable around each other yet you're polar opposites. You wouldn't have been friends if you'd have met at an older age, for instance. You're only friends because of the amount of time you've known each other. She's slightly dim and too into her looks- but for some reason, Jasmine, you don't mind that at all. Must be sentiment." Sherlock tutted, before continuing.

"She's accompanying you on your interview not only because she's your friend, but because she's hoping to meet an attractive and wealthy lawyer. Swatches of lipsticks on the back of the hand suggest a long time getting ready. Final choice of lipstick compliments the colour of her underwear- an unconscious decision. Frizzy hair at the ends suggests she not only straightened her hair- but she straightened it twice to ensure it didn't get messy on the way. And not two, not three… Not even four, but five squirts of perfume on the neck. There's still a residue on five different spots- it's quite an oily perfume. She's made an effort. Too much of an effort to only be accompanying her friend whilst she has an interview. She must have a hidden agenda." Sherlock said incredibly quickly, his eyes widening with excite as he listed off more and more information.

Whilst Olivia looked appalled at the information he'd gathered in just mere moments of being in her presence- Jasmine was completely nonplussed.

"Well, I already knew all of that." She replied, shrugging. "It's obvious. I do _know_ Olivia. I know she's after a bloke."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment before comically standing up straight and nodding into the distance, trying not to look embarrassed. He then slowly edged away- deciding that if his intellect couldn't impress her- he would simply ignore her.

Olivia looked towards her friend with an open mouth. "He's weird." Liv insisted.

"He's all right." She replied, watching him intently. She smirked and raised her eyebrows when his eyes quickly flashed to hers and quickly flashed away again- not wanting her to know that he was looking at her.

It was Sherlock who left the Tube first, dripping blood onto the linoleum floor as he stepped around people who looked disgusted. Jasmine and Liv both forced smiles when he walked past the two of them, but he simply ignored them.

"Where did you meet him?" Olivia asked as soon as the detective was out of hearing range.

"That day I was fired? You know I told you about that awful detective and his friend?" Jas asked, and Olivia nodded knowingly and smirked.

"The doctor that you fancy?" She asked.

"I don't fancy John! But yes, him." Jasmine admitted.

"I know you fancy him. You blush every time I mention him. You're blushing now. And I saw you looking him up on the internet the other day." Olivia finally got off her chest, finally letting herself admit that _yes_, she had seen Jasmine searching for 'John Watson' and reading his blog for about half an hour.

"I'm just interested!" Jasmine refuted angrily. "Anyway, Sherlock is the awfully rude detective." She finally finished her story.

"And your husband is his friend?" Olivia asked, smirking when her friend went bright red again.

"He's not my husband!" She roared, and a few people glanced at them oddly. "He's not my husband, and I do not fancy him." She hissed, averting her eyes from those staring at her.

"Okay. Fine. I believe you." Olivia shrugged, still smiling. It was obvious that she didn't.

The two girls sat in silence for about two minutes.

"I mean, he was just quite cute and friendly, that's all. He seemed nice- and that doesn't mean that I fancy him." Jasmine rambled, and Olivia's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, bringing him up into the conversation again, are we?" She enquired, standing up as they neared their stop. Jasmine sighed but followed her friend, adjusting her ponytail and tucking a few dark curls behind her ears.

"Sometimes, I really hate you Liv." Jasmine said quietly as they got off the Tube and made their way up the stone stairs and onto the busy Brixton street. Together they walked towards Bradshaw's Solicitors, with Liv asking Jas a few interview-esque questions to test Jasmine's answers. She had twenty minutes until her interview- and she was incredibly nervous.

_One Hour Later_

Olivia quickly put down the trashy magazine she'd been reading for the past forty minutes and stood up when she saw her best friend walking out of the office she'd been led into.

"How was it?" Olivia gushed as she handed Jas her coat and bag.

"Awfully. I must have hesitated for most of the questions. I am definitely not getting that job." Jasmine said, shaking her head and looking very upset.

"It's okay, Jas. It's just one job. There'll be loads more interviews! C'mon- let's go and get a coffee. And some cake." Liv said, leading her friend out of the office and back onto the streets. As they walked towards the nearest coffee shop, Olivia spotted someone she recognised. "Oh, my God. Isn't that him?" She asked, pointing towards a certain former army doctor who was carrying bags of shopping.

"Oh, yeah. That's John." Jas mumbled, very aware that her cheeks were in fact, blushing quite profusely.

"John! John Watson!" Liv yelled, and waved excitedly at the man across the road who turned and looked confused at them. He looked as if he vaguely recognised Jasmine, but the crazy looking blonde one was a complete mystery to him. He frowned as the blonde one pulled the brunette one across the road.

"You remember Jasmine, don't you?" Olivia asked, pushing Jasmine forwards.

"Oh, of course! Jasmine, hi. How are you?" John asked, smiling appreciatively when he finally realised who the girl was.

"I'm fine." Jasmine nodded, and looked to the ground. The three of them stood in silence for a while.

"I should get g-" John began, already going to head off.

"We just saw your friend. That dick with curly hair. What's he called?" Olivia frowned, having forgotten his unusual name.

"Sherlock." Both John and Jasmine said at the same time, and they smiled awkwardly at him.

"Unlucky you. Seen both of us in the space of one morning." John smiled at Jasmine, who shook her head.

"Hardly unlucky. Well, it is really." Jasmine admitted, nodding. John's smile fell. "I mean seeing Sherlock was unlucky! Seeing you is lucky!" She nodded, grinning. Olivia smirked as Jas blushed even more. "I mean- not lucky. Just… Nice. Normal. Average." Jas fumbled for her words. "Let's go." She ordered of her friend. John smirked as Jasmine began marching away, clearly embarrassed.

"We're going to get coffee if you're interested in joining us?" Liv asked, turning around to face John and walking backwards as Jasmine pulled her down the street.

"I don't know-" John hesitated, looking at his shopping bags. Olivia pulled herself from Jas' grip and grabbed some of the shopping bags.

"C'mon. I insist. I'll even carry some for you. Come on." Olivia grinned, not taking no for an answer as she already set off walking with John's shopping.

"I'm really sorry. She just gets these ideas in her head and doesn't like people saying no to her." Jasmine apologised quietly as the both of them followed her.

"It's not a problem. A coffee would be nice." John shrugged. "I heard you got fired from the jewellers, how are you doing?" He asked as they followed Olivia who was already well ahead of them.

"I just had an interview now actually." Jasmine smiled up at the doctor.

"Oh, great. How did it go?" He asked.

And so the two comfortably chatted as they followed Olivia, who led them into a coffee shop and had already found them a table by the time John and Jas got there. John held the door open for Jas and the three of them sat at one of the larger tables by the window.

"I'll go and order." Jasmine said, standing and grabbing her bag.

"Jasmine, you have no job. I will get them in." Olivia insisted, also standing up. The two girls faced each other until Jasmine next spoke.  
"I'll get them." Jas spoke.

"And let daddy pay for them?" Liv snorted.

"That's not nice." Jasmine refuted and Olivia shook her head.

"I'll get them. John, what are you having?" Olivia turned to ask, but he had already left the table and was queuing up.

"What do you want?" He called over.

"Oh, I can't let him pay." Jasmine muttered, fishing her purse from her bag and going to walk over to John and join him in the queue.

"I'll have a caramel latte and Jasmine will have a peach iced tea." Olivia called, pushing Jasmine back down.

"Stop pushing me." Jasmine snapped. "This is really embarrassing." She hissed to her friend, who grinned at her. "I'm so close to just walking away."

"You wouldn't." Olivia said knowingly, which infuriated her friend greatly.

"You're just trying to embarrass me. Of course I'd walk." Jasmine promised quietly.

"Then why aren't you? It's because you're in _love_ with John Watson." Olivia teased.

"Right." Jasmine said, standing up again and putting her coat and bag on, and storming out of the coffee shop before anyone could stop her. Olivia's smile fell and she watched her best friend hop into a cab.

When John walked over with a tray moments later, with a daft smile on his face, he looked disappointed when he noticed that Jasmine had left.

"Where's she gone?" He asked.

"I irritated her and she stormed off." Olivia shrugged, eyeing up an item that Jasmine had left on the table. Her mobile phone.

"Oh, is that hers?" John asked, eyeing up the phone also.

"It is. But she's refusing to talk to me so I don't know how I'm supposed to give it back." Olivia lied as she shrugged. She was seeing her that very evening for their meal- if Jasmine was still going that is.

"I can give it back if you want?" John suggested all too eagerly.

"Oh, would you? You little diamond." Olivia grinned, already scrawling Olivia's address onto a napkin and handing it over.

"She lives in Belgravia?" John asked, eyebrows raised as he tried to hide his surprise at the '_44 Eaton Square, Belgravia' _which was scribbled messily onto the napkin.

"Yeah, her dad is really rich, but she doesn't want to be like her mum and her older sister and just let her dad pay for everything. It's why she's trying desperately to get a job." Olivia explained.

"I know someone else who lives on this street." John mused. "Well, who used to live on this street."

"Oh, yeah? Well Jasmine just moved. Might be the same place." Olivia nodded, sipping her latte and cursing as it burnt her tongue.

"In fact, I think it is. It is the same place. Crikey." John said appreciatively.

"Oh, you must know Jasmine's sister then. Jasmine inherited the house from her older sister when she disappeared. It was written into her will, and she's been missing for over a year now so it went to Jasmine two weeks ago." Olivia explained. John looked up sharply.

"She disappeared?" He enquired.

"Well, that's what everyone says. But Jasmine and her family knows where she is. It's a witness protection thing, apparently." Liv nodded knowingly. "I thought you knew Irene? Surely you would have heard the news?"

"I did. But the news is wrong. Irene Adler is dead." John informed Olivia quietly, who in turn nearly dropped the mug onto the floor.

"How do you know?" She hissed, leaning in.

"Sherlock and I were involved in a case with Irene. After the investigation, her safety was compromised and they placed her in witness protection. But somehow, she was found and executed in Karachi." John whispered, thinking it best to keep his voice down. Obviously, John didn't know that Sherlock had saved Irene Adler.

"Shit. Why doesn't Jasmine know?!" Olivia demanded.

"I don't have a clue. Look, I have to go. But I will deliver this…" John said, pocketing Jasmine's phone, "And it was nice meeting you." He smiled, before rushing out of the coffee shop and leaving Olivia to finish her drink on her own.


	3. Mary

**Chapter Three: Mary**

"Jasmine... Adler." John panted as he rushed into the door of 221B. Sherlock idly looked up from his sheet music by the window, where he was in the middle of making adjustments. He was composing again. The crime scene in London was going through a dry patch. The only thing that had been mildly interesting was a missing rabbit called Bluebell.

"Who?" Sherlock frowned, putting his pen down and sitting in his arm chair. He picked up his gun from the coffee table and aimed it at the crudely drawn smiley face on the wall.

"No!" John exclaimed, running to grab the gun before he destroyed Mrs Hudson's walls even more.

"I'm bored." Sherlock hissed quietly, resting his head on the back of the chair.

"Jasmine's last name is Adler. She is Irene Adler's younger sister." John told his friend when he had safely hidden all fire arms.

Sherlock's curiosity peaked, his eyes flashed open and he sat up straight.

"Another woman." He murmured. "I have to give it to her- she's better than her sister. Very discreet. Even I didn't pick up that she's a dominatrix." Sherlock stood up and began pacing, clearly in thought.

"She's not." John sighed, frustrated.

"There's usually some telltale signs- all of which were on Irene. A faint red mark on the arm from where the whip backlashes and hits them as well as their client is an obvious one…" Sherlock acted as if he hadn't heard John.

"Sherlock, she's not a dominatrix." John grumbled, taking a seat in his arm chair and flicking through the newspaper that was lying on the coffee table.

"Isn't she? Of course not." Sherlock's interest faded as he realised this and he retied his navy dressing gown around his waist. "She's unemployed. You've been for coffee with her. But she left early." Sherlock said after gazing at his friend for a moment or two.

"Bang on." John muttered, not wanting to ask him how he knew that for fear of having Sherlock's intellect hurled at him for five minutes. "She's living in Irene's old place. Everyone assumes she's disappeared." His eyes flicked up to Sherlock's to decipher his mood when _The_ _Woman _was mentioned. He was surprised by the small smile that graced Sherlock's features.

It was then that Jasmine's phone buzzed in John's pocket. He pulled it out. An unknown number. He had an inkling it might be Jasmine panicking about who had her phone, so John answered.

"Hello." He said.

"John? Is that you?" It was indeed Jasmine.

"Yeah, you left your phone in the café. Olivia told me to give it to you." John explained.

"Oh, I'll come and get it now. No point you going out of your way to find my place. What's your address?" Jasmine asked quickly. There was something akin to panic in her voice.

"It's no trouble. Olivia actually gave me your address." John replied, holding up the napkin.

"Oh." Jasmine sounded defeated. "Still- I'll come and get it." She insisted. John didn't have to be a genius to work out that she was insecure about living in such a wealthy district.

"If you're sure? It's 221B Baker Street." John told her, and he stuck his middle finger up when he heard Sherlock groan audibly from his chair across.

"Great. I'll set off now." Jasmine said, and hung up.

"Does she have to come here? John- she's tedious at best." Sherlock complained.

"You don't even know her." John snapped. Sherlock suddenly grinned at his best friend.

"You like her." Sherlock stated.

"I do not. You don't know what you're talking about." John grumbled, standing up and going to make a pot of tea for when Jasmine turned up.

"You subconsciously smile when you say her name, John. You subconsciously smile!" Sherlock exclaimed, triumphant with his little discovery. It wasn't quite 'Christmas' for him. Maybe it was a less cheerful religious holiday. It was Easter.

"That doesn't mean anything, Sherlock. Trust me." John called, shuddering when he found the bowl of hacked off ears in the fridge, with cellophane wrapped over the top. If that was an attempt to stop them from decomposing- it was an awful one. John nudged the bowl to one side and grabbed the milk to pour into the milk jug.

When the kettle boiled he made the pot up and carried everything on a tray into the living room. He tidied up a little bit, putting Sherlock's skull back on the mantelpiece instead of strewn on the couch. He also picked up the dressing gown that Sherlock had ditched mere seconds before and thrown onto the floor, revealing himself to be dressed in his usual suit.

John threw the dressing gown onto the dining table.

"Best behaviour, Sherlock. She's a nice girl." John warned, pointing his finger at Sherlock, who simply ignored him.

Both men heard the knocker bang on the door downstairs, and then heard Mrs Hudson bustling to answer it.

Jasmine frowned when the old woman opened the door and smiled expectantly at her.

"Um… Is this 221B?" Jasmine asked, confused.

"That's upstairs, love." Mrs Hudson explained.

"Oh, how do I get upstairs? I didn't notice any stairs on this street." Jasmine frowned, peering comically up and down the road.

"The stairs are inside, dear. These are all flats, not houses. Are you a client?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Oh. I've never seen a flat like this before." Jasmine explained, frowning still as Mrs Hudson led the girl upstairs.

"Where did you grow up?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Essex." Jas sighed.

"Well, there you go then. These aren't your fancy apartments. The stairs are part of the house, here, my love." Mrs Hudson chuckled. Jasmine allowed herself to smile.

"It's just through there. Be careful- Sherlock's in a funny mood today." Mrs Hudson warned before tottering back downstairs.

Jasmine didn't know the correct etiquette. She still didn't fully understand the concept of flats within a house. She'd always believed flats to be in blocks. She decided the best thing to do was knock on the door that the old woman had pointed out.

Luckily, John opened it and let her in. "Come in. I've made tea." He smiled warmly as Jasmine, looking rather like a startled deer, made her way into the flat. She smiled at how warm it felt. She particularly liked the hide on the wall with headphones under the antlers.

"It's nice." She complimented, standing by the couch, looking rather awkward.

"Take a seat." John gestured to Sherlock's arm chair which had been made free when the detective himself went to gaze out of the window.

"Hello, Sherlock. Got all the blood off you then?" Jasmine grinned. Sherlock turned to look at her and appeared to be mildly irritated.

"Clearly." He uttered. "Nice to know my showering skills impress you more than my deductive skills." He then said quietly, turning back to gaze out of the window.

John passed Jasmine the mobile back, and she pocketed it gratefully. "Thank you so much for not just leaving it on the table. Olivia can be a bit of an idiot." Jasmine laughed, also accepting the cup of tea John handed her.

"You left early today. What happened?" John asked as he took his seat opposite her.

"Olivia pissed me off and so I left. It was nothing to do with you." Jasmine said, although it sounded like she was shouting at him. "No! Sorry. That sounded harsh. I mean I didn't leave because of you." Jas then assured him.

"Boring." Sherlock sighed from the window.

"What do you class as interesting then, Sherlock?" Jasmine demanded, turning to stare at him. He felt her eyes boring into the back of his head so he turned.

"Mass murders." He replied, sitting at the dining table. He loved the appalled look on Jasmine's face. Finally, a reaction from her that he expected.

"Mass murders?" Jasmine enquired, stuttering slightly.

"Or… You know, ending the private life of a dominatrix." Sherlock hinted, grinning suddenly at Jasmine, whose face turned cloudy.

"My sister." She stated, somewhat angrily.

"The Dominatrix. I'm sure as her sister; you know the close attention that Irene paid to her phone. I found the hidden safe where the phone was located in less than ten minutes of being in her home." Sherlock smiled smugly.

"Boring." Jasmine said, in the droll tone of voice that Sherlock had used moments before. "I could have done it in less than one minute." She smiled at Sherlock's sudden hateful facial expression towards her.

"Liar." He muttered.

"Behind the mirror." Jasmine said, quick as a flash. Sherlock visibly gritted his teeth and turned back to the window. "I know my sister better than anyone does, even you, Mr Holmes." She added darkly, before turning her attention back to John who was watching them with trepidation.

"Moving on." John sighed, wishing Sherlock would just leave them alone. "I was just wondering if you're doing anything tonight?" John asked her, somewhat nervously.

"I was supposed to be out with Liv, but she can be ditched quite quickly. Why?" Jasmine smiled, averting her eyes and gazing at the skull on the mantelpiece instead.

"I could… I don't know… Book us a table somewhere?" John suggested, also averting his eyes. Sherlock thought it was a pitiful scene.

"That would be nice, yeah." Jasmine grinned, finally looking up at the doctor, who was also smiling like an idiot. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh, good. I've not eaten out in a while. I'll come too." Sherlock said, also deciding to smile if it got him free food.

"No." John stated.

"Why? Or will you be expecting sex? If so, just say and I'll stay at home." Sherlock insisted, knowing John could never tell him to stay at home now, unless he wanted to admit to Jasmine that he expected sex. John glared at him, knowing exactly what his motivation was. Ruin any chances of John and Jasmine being happy together and consequently remove Jasmine from the picture.

"No. Fine. Come along as well, Sherlock. We'll all have a great time." John said sarcastically.

"Superb." Sherlock smiled at the both of them, revelling in the uncomfortable atmosphere he'd created.

Jasmine simply sipped her tea.

After about twenty minutes of John and Jasmine idly chatting, and Sherlock butting in constantly – making it incredibly uncomfortable – Jasmine decided it was time to head back to her own place.

"I'd best get going and get ready if the reservation's in two hours." Jasmine grinned, putting her cup on the table and retrieving her coat from the back of the chair where she'd draped it.

"Of course." John nodded, also standing. "I'll show you out." He said.

"See you later, Sherlock." Jasmine called as she descended the stairs. He didn't reply. He watched from the window as John said goodbye to Jasmine, after slagging Sherlock off for a bit, no doubt. He picked up the violin from the stand by the window and began angrily playing a tune, a mash-up of a random combination of strings plucked furiously and without order.

When Jasmine returned home to her beautiful, if slightly grandiose, house, she was greeted by Kate. Kate was Irene's maid from when she lived there over a year ago, and she was still technically employed by the Adler family. Jasmine didn't have the heart to fire her.

"Hi, Kate. I'm going out again soon so you can take the rest of the evening off if you want." Jasmine suggested as Kate took the coat from Jasmine's shoulders.

"Where are you off to, then?" Kate asked, hanging it up on the coat rack.

"I'm off for a meal with a Mr John Watson. Do you know him? He said he knew Irene." Jas asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do, Miss Adler." Kate grinned. "He's got a weird friend who fell in love with your sister." She explained.

"Sherlock loved my sister?!" Jasmine demanded, not expecting that at all.

"In all honesty, no. Irene liked to think that he did, but she was more obsessed with him than he was of her." Kate admitted, hating talking ill of her former boss.

"How odd." Jasmine muttered.

"I could always do your hair and makeup for you if you want me to? I did it for your sister all the time!" Kate exclaimed up the grand marble staircase as Jasmine made her way there. Jasmine paused and turned around.

"Are you sure?" She enquired. Kate nodded eagerly.

"You have a lovely face shape. And an unusual nose, if you don't mind me asking. I've wanted to do my makeup on you for ages now. Not that you need it of course, Miss Adler." Kate hurriedly assured her.

"That would be nice. Let me shower and change and then I'll see what you can do." Jasmine grinned, continuing up the stairs and into the ensuite bathroom adjoined to her bedroom.

When Jasmine had moved in, her bedroom was still littered with Irene's things. She had completely gotten rid of everything. She wanted it to feel like her home. All of the whites and icy blues disappeared from the rooms, replaced with warm reds and plums. The sharp, crisp sheets on the bed were replaced with fluffy blankets and dark pink bed sheets. Vintage decorations littered every room, replacing the metal ornaments that previously ornated the house. And the clothes… Had to go. Definitely. Jasmine was more of a tea-dress and tights type girl, she didn't like the flimsy and skimpy dresses that her sister so enjoyed. And some of the sex toys she had found were somewhat disturbing. Into the bin they went. She replaced those with books. Books everywhere.

And all of a sudden, 44 Eaton Square turned from a cold, lofty house to a warm home. Even Kate had to admit, it was much cosier.

Jasmine emerged from the shower and was immediately greeted by Kate, who had the nerve to stand outside the bathroom, holding underwear and clothes up for Jasmine.

"What?" Jas demanded, wrapping the towel tighter around her body.

"Sorry. Irene used to let me choose all of her outfits. It's a habit for me now. I think you'll look great in this." Kate advised, shoving the clothes into Jasmine's arms and pushing her back into the bathroom.

Jasmine liked Kate's taste. A burgundy tea dress with a black collar, however with no tights which would make a change, and black heels to go with it. She re-emerged and Kate nodded thoughtfully, before pushing her into the plush chair by a vanity table- still stacked with Irene's hair appliances and all of the makeup that still went unused.

And Kate got to work.

It was John who opened the door to 221 Baker Street later that night. Jasmine thanked her lucky stars, for she still didn't quite know the etiquette for entering flats within a house. It was alien to her.

"You look lovely. Come inside, and we'll wait for a cab." John insisted, opening the door further to let her in. Jasmine grinned and ascended the stairs.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

The first thing the three of them talked about in the quaint Italian John had booked a table for was a man named Henry Knight, who had turned up at their house much earlier in the day with talk of a gigantic hound that had killed his father. This intrigued Jasmine, especially the extra gruesome revelation that this all occurred on the Dartmoor moors.

"Are you going to help him?" Jasmine enquired as she sipped the cocktail she'd ordered.

"We're going to Dartmoor tomorrow, actually. It should be interesting." John replied.

"More drabble to fill your blog with." Sherlock muttered, and John rolled his eyes.

"I read your blog, actually. It's very well written." Jasmine complimented. Sherlock perked up at this, looking up from the pasta he had not yet touched and glancing at the brunette with a new found interest.

"What do you think?" Sherlock enquired.

"Of what?" Jasmine asked, dragging her attention away from John and focusing on Sherlock instead.

"My deductive skills." Sherlock said rather smugly, aware that she _must_ now be impressed by him. Jasmine shrugged. She seemed like the kind of girl who shrugged a lot.

"It's okay. A bit boring for everyone else." Jasmine admitted, taking another delicate bite of her pizza. "You're a bit too full of yourself to make you an interesting character." She concluded, unaware that she had just seriously wounded Sherlock's self-esteem. John glanced at Jasmine like she was his new favourite person.

"Tell me about your sister." Sherlock got over it pretty quickly as his eyes narrowed, boring into hers. He knew this would annoy her.

"What do you want to know?" Jasmine asked, putting her knife and fork down and glaring at the consulting detective.

"Was she always a high class prostitute, or did she used to have another job? Something boring, maybe. Like a shop assistant in a jewellers?" Sherlock asked.

"You're such a witty, witty man aren't you Mr Holmes?" Jasmine asked sarcastically. "She was always a prostitute. And I've heard from a very reliable source that you had an interest in her. Have you always fancied prostitutes or did you used to have a different preference? Something boring, maybe. Like someone who doesn't get paid for sex?" Jasmine snapped.

Sherlock didn't reply, he simply steepled his fingers under his chin and gazed at her, smirking gently. John put down his cutlery and exhaled deeply, letting his head fall into his hands.

"Touché." Sherlock finally said, rather quietly. He pushed his pasta away, threw some money onto the table and stood up. He draped his coat over his shoulders and walked away, without as much as a wave goodbye.

They watched him as he walked past the window, popping his collar up and storming away.

"I'm really sorry about him. He's an ignorant prick." John muttered, but Jasmine was smiling.

"It's not a problem, John." Jasmine promised, smirking into her cocktail glass as she finished the drink. "Ooh, sorry. I'm buzzing." She grinned, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "Sorry, I need to take this. Old friend." She said apologetically, grabbing her coat before walking out of the restaurant. She leaned against the window as she talked. John smiled gently as he watched Jasmine laughing on the phone.

She walked back inside a few moments later, covered in droplets of snow which were delicately falling outside. It wasn't enough to coat the ground in icing sugar, but it was enough to stick to her duffle coat, her hair and even her eyelashes.

"Sorry about that. My friend Mary… I haven't seen her for a while, she's been travelling with her boyfriend and they just got back in London. She's leaving tomorrow, though." Jasmine said mournfully, her smile suddenly dropping as she realised she wouldn't be able to see her for a while.

"Go and meet her if you want. I'll be fine, we've nearly finished anyway. Go and see your friend and I'll console mine. I thin k you may have broken him." John said, smiling as he pushed his plate aside.

"Are you sure? That's twice I'll have run out on you in a day." Jasmine frowned. "Come with me." She suddenly smiled, looking up at him in a way that made it impossible to say no.

"Oh- No. I can't…" John muttered, shaking his head profusely.

"I mean it. I won't take no for an answer." Jasmine insisted, putting her hand over John's. "I think she'll love you. Please." She added as an afterthought. John sighed but reluctantly nodded, and Jasmine grinned.

"Great. I'll let her know to expect us." Jasmine texted quickly before putting her phone away and taking her coat off.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

They met her at a bar near China Town. Her name was Mary Morstan, and she had been travelling around Europe with her boyfriend for six months. He was a big name in the corporation that Olivia worked at- which is how Mary and Jasmine met. Olivia had dragged Jasmine along for company at the Christmas do, and there she met Mary. The two of them simply clicked. What Mary had been doing abroad, Jasmine had absolutely no idea and she had a feeling it was private. Perhaps to do with the boyfriend, Christopher, who often had confidential business to attend to.

Mary was on her own, Christopher was apparently at his parent's house to catch up after so long away. John awkwardly stood as the two ladies hugged each other. "God, you're so tanned. I'm very jealous." Jasmine grinned as they took their seats at a table away from the vibrating dance floor further in, but not so far away that they couldn't hear the music.

"Oh, sorry. Mary this is my friend John, John this is Mary." Jasmine introduced, and the two of them shook hands. John took his seat next to Jasmine and Mary smiled warmly at him.

"So, where is it you've been travelling?" John asked politely, unsure of whether he could ask that or not, or whether it was truly confidential.

"All over Europe, really. We're going again tomorrow morning. We just came back to check on the business." Mary explained, shifting somewhat uncomfortably.

"Mary's boyfriend Christopher practically runs this software firm." Jasmine explained, and Mary smiled and looked down. "I've still to meet him." Jasmine added, eyeing Mary up knowingly.

"Well, he's quite a private person." Mary said awkwardly. "I'll get us some drinks." She quickly stood up, grabbing her purse. "What does everyone want?" She enquired.

"I'll get them. You sit down, catch up." John insisted. He already knew what to order for the both of them. Strawberry daiquiri for Jasmine and a bloody Mary, incidentally, for Mary. See, he had picked up _something_ from Sherlock. It was what Jasmine had ordered at the Italian, and what Mary had been drinking when they'd walked into the bar.

"Thank you, John." Jasmine said gratefully, and Mary reluctantly sat back down.

"Are you two together, then?" Mary asked, gesturing between John and Jasmine as he stood at the bar.

"Oh, no. I mean, we were sort of on a… Date thing tonight but it didn't really go as planned." Jasmine explained, smiling at the thought of the victory she'd had over Sherlock hours before.

"That's not my fault is it? For ringing you?" Mary enquired, worried all of a sudden.

"Oh, no. He's got this friend who insisted on coming with us. A bit of an arse hole, but he's quite funny. He doesn't mean to be, but he is." Jasmine shrugged.

"How's Liv?" Mary asked. Olivia was a sweet enough girl, but Mary didn't have that immediate connection like she'd had with Jasmine.

"She's all right. Still on the prowl for a man." Jasmine winked, and Mary shook her head fondly.

"Some things never change." Mary joked. "Why don't you set her up with John's annoying friend?" She suggested. Jasmine laughed, covering her mouth with her hand to try and be a bit quieter about it.

"I couldn't do that." She finally managed to say.

"Why not?" Mary asked, smiling at Jas' laugh.

"He's too much of an intellect for her. They really don't suit each other." Jasmine explained.

"You fancy him, don't you? That's why you're not setting them up together!" Mary exclaimed, grinning as she sipped the last of her cocktail.

"I do not!" Jasmine's smile faded as she looked shocked.

"You do. You well want to shag him." Mary teased, smirking at Jasmine's horrified expression.

"I bloody do not want to shag Sherlock Holmes!" Jasmine exclaimed, just as John brought their drinks over. He awkwardly sat down, pretending not to have heard anything. Mary and Jasmine shared a glance, both trying not to laugh.

"Well… That's good to know." John finally said, and the two ladies tried to hide their laughter but couldn't. Poor John.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

_Hello my lovelies. God it feels really weird writing a Sherlock fic without Claudia! (Just gonna subtly advertise my other Sherlock series- It starts with 'Surviving Claudia'. Go and check it out if you haven't already!)_

_I've had this idea for such a long time and I've written all the plot down for this story and I think it's quite good if I do say so myself __ Hope you've been enjoying it so far. _

_PS- I am modelling Jasmine on Jenna Coleman, if you didn't realise by the cover of the fic. She's a little cutie._

_PPS- Please leave comments as often as possible! Those of you who know me already know how much it spurs me on to write more and more! _

_PPPS- I am __**not**_ _abandoning my Claudia series. I already have the sequel to 'Their Return' all planned out! _

_Love you guys millions and millions and millions. X_


	4. The Detestable Woman

**Chapter Four: The Detestable Woman**

Jasmine didn't see or hear much from John Watson after that night. She felt incredibly wretched for how the end of the night turned out. She was so interested and absorbed with Mary that she didn't notice that John had simply left them and gone home. In actuality, John had slipped out of the bar a good fifty minutes before Jasmine realised he'd gone.

It wasn't like she could just swan over to 221B the following day, either, for John and Sherlock had gone to Dartmoor to help that Henry guy with the dog problem. She couldn't even text him and apologise, because she didn't have his number. She had to live with her guilt for days. She checked on his blog every night before bed, but found nothing for two weeks- when John finally updated the blog and relayed the tale of the Hound of Baskerville.

Even that case seemed to Jasmine just a conspiracy theory that Sherlock had conjured up. It was nowhere close to impressing her. Not only had he terrified John for no good reason, but he'd also had a meltdown. Jasmine remained officially unimpressed. Poor Sherlock- he was so sure that she'd bow down to him upon his arrival back in London- just as John always did.

For those two weeks of uncertainty, she had been informed that her fear was correct- she had not got the job she had gone for. Apparently, she was over-qualified. She didn't know whether to be flattered or offended. To drown her sorrows, she had gone out for drinks with Olivia- who had sufficiently helped her get over it. Since then, she had applied for three more jobs.

In the two weeks of doing absolutely nothing, Jasmine and Kate had gone furniture shopping together, to pick yet more ornaments and seats to make the place feel even cosier and more like Jasmine's home and not Irene's house. She also finally went into the safe behind the garish mirror in Irene's previous living room (it was now Jasmine's dining room,) and rifled through the private belongings. She shredded some promotional photo's that Irene hadn't yet gotten round to scanning and using on her website and got in a handyman to dig out the safe from the wall and disable the electronic mirror. With the red box containing £300,000 that Irene had kept in yet another safe in Jasmine's bedroom, she anonymously donated it to a refugee centre that was going through hard times. She wanted nothing of Irene's elusive career tainting her own home. Jasmine felt like she was being productive, but really, she was biding her time until John updated his blog and she could go around and formally apologise. She refused to go before she knew he was definitely back in London. What would their housekeeper think? The stuck up girl who didn't know about stairways bothering her just to see John Watson.

And so when she finally saw John's updated blog, she grinned and set an alarm to make her get up earlier than normal to make her way to the flat.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Jas tentatively knocked on the door to 221 Baker Street, praying that John would just open the front door for once and let her avoid the embarrassment of Mrs Hudson walking up the stairs with her. Her prayers went unanswered, for it was Sherlock Holmes who answered the door to her, with a rather smug look on his face.

"I knew it was you." He informed her, and she simply stared at him for a moment.

"You saw me out the window? I saw you looking when I knocked on the door." Jasmine replied. Sherlock sighed, glaring at her.

"He's up there." He said, opening the door again so she could squeeze past him and run up the stairs. Sherlock begrudgingly followed. All he wanted was for her to tell him he was amazing. Everyone else did. It was odd when he wasn't congratulated for being intelligent.

Jasmine didn't bother knocking this time, she went straight on through to 221B, where John looked up from his laptop with a mildly surprised expression written on his features.

"Jasmine, hi." He smiled, snapping the laptop shut and pushing it onto the coffee table.

"John, I'm so sorry about that night. I just hadn't seen Mary in so long…" Jasmine said, frowning sincerely.

"It's fine, don't worry. I understand." John assured her. He smiled when Jasmine visibly looked relieved, and she sat in Sherlock's chair just as Sherlock was heading for it. Sherlock himself looked exasperated- enraged that she would even dare to sit in his seat.

"Tea would be lovely, thanks." Jasmine smiled at Sherlock, who looked at John for moral support.

"No sugar." John reminded him, grinning evilly.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock yelled, throwing himself sulkily onto the couch and turning his back on them all.

"I read about the Hound of Baskerville. Sherlock was being a right arse." Jasmine said loudly, just to ensure that Sherlock heard her.

"Yeah, well. We were all under strain." John said, defending his friend with a shrug and an awkward smile. Jasmine looked disappointed that John didn't join in with her teasing. And so the awkward silence ensued. They were both aware that the last time they were together, Jasmine had completely forgotten about him. It must have been silent for at least three minutes before Mrs Hudson finally pottered into the room.

"What is it, Sherlock?" She enquired to the man curled up on the couch.

"Tea, Mrs Hudson. If you don't mind." He said without turning around or looking up.

"Oh, hello again. Are you staying?" Mrs Hudson asked, this time of Jasmine.

"Actually, no. I'm just leaving." She said, smiling and standing up, grabbing her bag. "See you l- Um.. See you." She smiled, not wanting to commit herself to having to see John 'later.' That had been far too awkward and she planned to put all thoughts of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes behind her.

"Wait." Sherlock called, springing from the couch and grabbing his coat, following her down the stairs and out of the door onto Baker Street.

"What?" Jasmine asked, annoyed at being interrupted during her dramatic exit.

"Let me impress you." He insisted, following her down the street.

"Impress me?" Jasmine snorted derisively, getting her phone from her pocket and dialling Olivia's number.

"Yes. It's completely throwing me off balance that you're not impressed by me." Sherlock admitted, gritting his teeth as she continued to ignore him.

"Hi, Liv. You free?" She enquired, briefly glancing at the detective- but it was definitely a look of annoyance. "Oh, no, it doesn't matter. Really, that sounds great. Have fun." She replied insistently.

"She's out on a date with a wealthy executive of her firm. If it goes well, she'll get a big promotion." Sherlock relayed quickly. Jasmine glanced at him in a patronising manner.

"Wrong." She replied.

"What?!" Sherlock roared, now jogging to keep up with her. For a short girl, she had surprisingly long strides.

"You're wrong. Once again, Sherlock Holmes, you've failed to impress me." She smiled, opening the door to a black cab and climbing in.

"What's she doing then?" Sherlock asked, tapping on the window after she shut the door.

"She's with her brother! They're having a meal." Jasmine informed him, and Sherlock closed his eyes. He hadn't just been wrong- he had been really wrong. By the time he'd opened his eyes again, Jasmine had been driven away.

Sherlock glanced around him at the street, and then he turned to the window of 221B, where he knew John was watching. He was right about that- watching and enjoying, by the looks of it.

"Detestable woman!" Sherlock roared so loudly that even John could hear him. He turned on his heel and returned to the flat, where he would have to explain that he hadn't been 'wrong', he'd just misinterpreted the 'truth.'

"What was all that about, John?" Mrs Hudson was asking when he returned upstairs.

"Nothing. Nothing to worry about, anyway. Doubt I'll be seeing her again." He sighed, sitting back down in his armchair and sipping the tea that Mrs H had made for him.

"Oh, John. But she's such a lovely girl. If a bit dim." Mrs Hudson admitted, remembering the whole 'inside stairs' conundrum.

"Dim? Why? What do you know? Tell me." Sherlock demanded, causing Mrs Hudson to look flustered.

"What? I don't know anything, Sherlock. Sit down." She tutted, before tottering out of the door and back down to her own flat.

"I think you should call her." Sherlock informed John.

"And why do you think that?" John asked quietly, not looking up from the newspaper he was still reading.

"She's a… Lovely girl." Sherlock managed to utter, causing John to smirk – bemused – and glance up at him.

"Just because Mrs Hudson said it doesn't make it true. No, I won't call her. Were you not in the room with us before? That silence was bloody unbearable." John said insistently.

"Oh go on." Sherlock urged, crouching on the couch. He was getting bored again.

"No. You just want to impress her. _You_ call her if you like her so much." John advised, slapping the newspaper on the coffee table and taking his phone instead. Sherlock needed a case or he'd be frantically looking for his 'secret' cigarette stash again. He loaded up the blog inbox and began scouring the emails.

"I can't call her, John. I already chased her down the street." He replied scornfully and somewhat bitterly.

"Just forget about her. Not everybody has to be impressed by your intellect. Just let it go." John shrugged nonchalantly.

"Let it go? Are you listening to yourself?" Sherlock hissed.

"Well, I'm not calling her so you'll _have _to forget it. Here, this one. A stolen painting." John suggested.

"I don't _forget_ things like this, John." Sherlock muttered.

"A Turner painting actually. It's quite a high profile case, Sherlock. The painting's called _'Falls of the Reichenbach.' _You up for that?" He asked.

"Yes, whatever." Sherlock waved off John's comments. "Unless I just turn up to her house. I can do what we did with the other Miss Adler! John, you'll have to punch me again, of course. And I'll need to find another dog collar." Sherlock mused, standing up and beginning to pace.

"That's a really stupid idea, Sherlock. She'll know. She's not dim, no matter what Mrs Hudson says." John smirked, sending back an email to the British Gallery to let them know that Sherlock had officially taken the case.

"That's true." Sherlock admitted his fingers steepled under his chin.

"Look, I said this case is high profile. Which means it'll be in the papers and on the news. If you do a really good job, she'll find out about it. You might even impress her." John smirked, eyeing up his friend with a new-found interest.

"Right, let's go." Sherlock said, making his way to the door. John sighed and quickly finished his tea before following Sherlock out the flat.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

"Your weird friends are on the news, Miss Adler." Kate informed her mistress, and Jasmine frowned.

"What weird friends?" She asked, searching for the remote for the TV in her living room. Kate smiled and picked it up, switching the TV on and onto BBC News. "Oh, those weird friends. Well, they're not really my friends." Jasmine amended, watching with interest as Sherlock and John stood side by side, in front of a painting by Turner.

"_Turner's masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes._" A man grinned, handing Sherlock a small, wrapped gift. Sherlock took it with a straight face. "_A small token of our gratitude._" The man, assumedly a Director smiled warmly.

"_Diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons_." Sherlock said ungratefully, and Kate surreptitiously smirked at Jasmine's smile. The camera quickly panned away from the detective and to an uncomfortable looking news presenter.

"_Haha, I'm sure he's just joking_." She smiled falsely into the lens.

"He's most definitely _not_ joking. He's a huge prick." Jasmine said as she plucked the remote from Kate's hands and switched the TV off. "I don't know why they're paying him so much attention. He's just a hyped up policeman!" She exclaimed, finally moving herself from the couch and going to take a shower.

"When I met him he was a jumped up priest." Kate muttered, switching the TV back on and listening intently to the rest of the news story. "He's being named 'The Hero of Reichenbach!'" Kate called.

"Great!" Jasmine called back sarcastically.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

A few weeks later and Kate was throwing a newspaper in front of Jasmine as she ate her breakfast. "What?" Jasmine asked over a mouthful of toast.

"I'll read, shall I?" Kate asked breezily, taking the newspaper back and reading aloud from the front page. "Sherlock Holmes was last night being hailed a hero yet again for masterminding the daring escape of the kidnapped man. Scotland Yard had to secretly bring in their special weapon – in the form of Mr Holmes – yet again. The case has drawn a huge amount of attention as the nation became divided about the outcome of the kidnapping. Bankers are certainly not the nation's sweethearts anymore, but Mr Holmes was presented with a gift from the banker's family." Kate read, and when she finished, she looked expectantly at Jasmine.

"Hyped up policeman." Jasmine grinned, sipping her orange juice. She was aware how her nonchalant attitude annoyed Kate, who wanted nothing more than to meet Mr Holmes again. She felt that the last time had been cut way too short by being knocked out by some angry Americans and all.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

"Oh God, not him again. Nobody cares!" Jasmine cried as she irritably unzipped the tight pencil skirt she'd been wearing and let it drop to the floor. She'd finally gotten a new job, as an advisor to a reputable lawyer. It was all long hours and being undermined, but she was already being noticed by the big bosses.

"I care." Kate refuted, trying not to stare too much as Jasmine ran through to her bedroom. She emerged moments later wearing nothing but a bathrobe. "You really shouldn't tease me like this, Miss Adler." Kate smiled. Jasmine frowned at her and tightened the cord about her waist.

Sherlock Holmes was in the news again.

"_Peter Ricoletti: number one on Interpol's Most Wanted list since 1982. But we got him; and there's one person to thank for giving us the decisive leads… With all his customary diplomacy and tact_." Detective Inspector Lestrade smiled at a press conference, surrounded by press and peers.

"You have to admit, that's quite impressive." Kate insisted. Jasmine shrugged, nonplussed.

The press applauded Sherlock Holmes, who was being given yet another gift. Kate snorted when she saw what the gift was. A deerstalker hat.

"_Put the hat on_!" Came the cheers of the photographers and journalist hacks present at the press conference. Sherlock sighed and very begrudgingly put the hat on.

"And you expect me to take him seriously?" She enquired, gesturing to the TV with disdain.  
"Oh, come on. The case was practically unsolvable. The police said so themselves." Kate smiled.

"_Practically_. Emphasis on the word- _Practically_." Jasmine refuted.

"I think someone's got a crush." Kate said in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah, so do I." Jasmine agreed, staring at Kate.

"Oh, so you're admitting it?" Kate asked.

"No, you're admitting it. He's all you ever talk about!" Jasmine insisted.

"He's all _you _ever talk about." Kate corrected.

"Oh…" Jasmine hissed. "I'm going for a bath." She said, storming off to the bathroom.

"Yeah, yeah. There are some spare batteries in that drawer- should you need them." Kate winked, and Jasmine ignored her, gritting her teeth with anger.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

_Sorry it's been a while since I updated. Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for all the comments and please please leave more! They spur me on. X_


	5. Their First Argument

Chapter Five: Their First Argument

"Oh my God." Kate said, the TV remote slipping from the grasp of her suddenly icy cold hand, her fingernails painted her usual blood red. Her knees buckled, and she fell slightly onto the couch behind her, the cushions and blanket left from Jasmine's day-long movie fest cushioning her fall. She pressed a hand over her heart.  
"Jasmine!" Kate shakily called, "Jasmine!" She cried again. She heard her boss' hurried and heeled footsteps clicking through the halls of the house. Jasmine appeared at the top of the stairs, her head just visible as she poked it through the banister. "What?!" She asked, one half of her hair straight, and the other curly. She was in the middle of getting ready to go out, meeting a few friends for a coffee morning.  
"Look at this. Quickly." Kate urged, turning the volume of the TV up. Jasmine rushed down the last few steps and hopped into the lounge, standing behind the couch and watching the news, as Kate was doing.  
"It's him!" Jasmine exclaimed, pointing one hand at the TV as the news showed one Mr Moriarty being arrested, being pushed into the police car with a smirking, self-satisfied expression written on his face.  
"It's him." Kate confirmed sullenly. "He's broken into the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison and the Bank of England." She relayed. Jasmine looked incredibly surprised; surely three of the most secure, safest buildings in England? Yet he had managed to break into all three in the space of less than twenty-four hours.  
"Your two new little boyfriends are going to be very busy." Kate sighed, regaining her composure and standing up, a smug little smile aimed towards Jasmine. Jasmine sighed and rolled her eyes.  
"Neither of them are my boyfriend!" Jasmine exclaimed, grabbing the remote and rewinding the news, wishing to watch it from the beginning. Kate brushed down the blanket she had moved, and draped it back over the back of the couch, and fluffed up the cushions.  
"I haven't heard Moriarty's mentioned since your sister disappeared." Kate mentioned matter-of-factly. "Took me by surprise. Never thought I'd have the misfortune of seeing his face again."  
"Whenever I saw Irene she'd be going on about him. I think she's in love with him." Jasmine mused, casually sitting on the couch, disrupting Kate's hard work.  
"I'll go and make some tea, eh?" Kate asked, not waiting for a reply before walking through the lounge and into the kitchen.  
As soon as Kate had left the room, Jasmine got her phone from her pocket and texted John.  
'Good luck with this one.'

The trial of Jim Moriarty was dragged out for days. It was documented not only all over the news, but also in all of the newspapers, and pretty much all over social media too. And every time Moriarty was mentioned, Sherlock was named as his contrast. The good to his bad. The detective to the criminal. Jasmine knew this wasn't necessarily the case; Sherlock was just as much of an arse as Jim was (according to her sister's accounts), it's just that Sherlock had decided to be on the good side, whilst Jim had chosen to be on the bad.

A week after the news come out about Moriarty, Jasmine got a mysterious phone call. She had to admit to herself that she hadn't been keeping up with the case at all, all she knew was that Jim was probably going to be put in prison, and Sherlock was going to be hailed a genius... Again. Yet when she got this phone call, it planted doubt in her mind. For why would Sherlock Holmes ring Jasmine Adler, all in a panic, if he wasn't in deep waters?  
"Hello?" Jasmine asked, frowning at the 'ID UNKNOWN' caller.  
"Jasmine..." Sherlock breathed heavily down the phone. "This is you, isn't it?" He asked, sounding completely wired.  
"Sherlock? Yes, it's me. What's wrong?" She inquired, sitting up in bed and pulling the sheets around her as she did so. It was only ten in the morning, and still jobless, Jasmine saw no reason why she should have to get up early in the mornings. She could have slept for another hour or two if Sherlock hadn't so rudely awoken her.  
"He's walked away. Jim Moriarty has been let go." He explained.  
"What? How?!" Jasmine exclaimed, frowning intently.  
"Blackmail, deceit, treachery. I'm sending a cab for you to Baker Street. Make sure you get in it, Jasmine." Sherlock advised, before abruptly hanging up the phone. Jasmine frowned and put her phone down on the bedside table, unhappy with that quite frankly bizarre display of behaviour on Sherlock's part.  
A car beeped it's horn outside the window. Jasmine gritted her teeth and hopped out of bed, again bringing her sheets with her, for fear that somebody outside would see her in the nude. She glanced out of her huge bay window. It was the cab.  
"Cheeky git. He must have called it about twenty minutes ago." She cursed, rushing to her wardrobe and flinging the doors open. She grabbed the first dress she saw and slipped it on, followed by some boots and her thick, crimson duffle coat. She slung her bag over her shoulder, collected her phone from the bedside table and quickly scrawled a note to Kate, telling her of her whereabouts in case she began worrying about her.  
Impressed with her own speed, Jasmine (now only five minutes late) hopped into the cab and apologised on behalf of that bloody Sherlock Holmes.

The driver drove recklessly, obviously anxious to get to his next call out. He dropped her off at Baker Street, and informed her that the ride had already been paid for in advance by Mr Holmes. Jasmine shrugged and climbed from the car, deciding to forget traditional manners and instead just opening the door to 221 Baker Street, and rushing up the stairs to get to 221B.  
"I hope there's a good reason why you dragged me out of bed, Sherlock." Jasmine called, dumping her bag on the couch, followed by her coat.  
"Oh, I think so." Sherlock called from the kitchen, sounding somewhat smug.  
"Well, go on then. What is it?" Jasmine asked, following his voice and poking her head through into the kitchen.  
"You'll seen in... Oh, approximately one minute and forty two seconds." Sherlock smiled at her, placing a pot of tea and three tea cups onto a tray.  
"You don't seem awfully bothered about the fact that Moriarty is on the loose. He could be anywhere." Jasmine muttered, carrying the tray into the living room for him.  
"Au contraire." He called after her, following her into the living room and picking up his violin.  
"Where's John?" Jasmine enquired, collapsing into John's comfy arm chair.  
"Out." Sherlock replied. "Now shush, and prepare to be astonished." He told her, beginning to play the instrument beautifully, as he always did.  
Jasmine sighed, annoyed at his cavalier attitude, but nevertheless did as she was told.  
He was bang on time- obviously. Sherlock wasn't long into his song until he heard a footstep creak on a floorboard of the stairs. He abruptly paused his playing, and Jasmine stole a glance to the door of the flat, clearly somewhat worried. Although, if she was being honest, she had a feeling who it was.  
"Sherlock, if you think this is impressive- then you're wrong. This is scary." Jasmine hissed with anger, and Sherlock frowned, his eyes betraying his disappointment at her once again nonchalance to his brilliance.

"Relax. He won't kill you." Sherlock smiled pleasantly, and Jasmine simply glared at him, cursing the day she ever met Sherlock Holmes. "Most people knock." Sherlock called, and Jasmine froze, realising that _he _was in the same room as her. The man who ruined her sister. "But then, you're not most people, I suppose." Sherlock relented, gesturing behind him with his bow for Moriarty to take a seat.

Jim walked into the room, swooped into the fruit bowl to pick up an apple, and glanced around the room, his gaze settling momentarily at Jasmine- whose eyes were fixed on him. He winked at her, and she quickly looked away, goosebumps raising on her arms.

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled." Moriarty claimed, in reference to Sherlock's playing. He tossed the apple into the air and caught it, before searching for a seat. "May I?" He enquired, motioning to a chair at the dining table.

"Please." Sherlock nodded, the apparent epitome of manners. Moriarty purposefully scraped the chair along the floor until it was directly next to Jasmine sat in John's chair. Jasmine scooted right to the edge of the seat, as far away from the psychopath as she could go.

"Well well, Jasmine Adler. I know your sister. Isn't she swell?" He grinned at her. Jasmine made no response. "Well, that really should be '_Wasn_'_t _she swell?', shouldn't it? It's a huge shame about what happened in Karachi." He sighed melodramatically.

"What happened in Karachi?" Jasmine demanded, suddenly turning to Moriarty. He simply smiled at her and shrugged, well aware of the fact that neither Jasmine nor her family knew anything about Irene's disappearance other than that she was on a witness protection scheme. "Sherlock?" She asked, turning her attention to the somewhat carefree detective who was pouring them tea. Sherlock ignored her, simply sitting opposite them in his own chair instead. Jim began cutting into his apple with a penknife, unnerving Jasmine somewhat.

"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end..." Moriarty began.

"...And the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it." Sherlock finished.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody." Moriarty nodded, still carving into the red apple.

"Neither can you. That's why you've come." Sherlock nodded.

"But be honest: you're just a tiny bit pleased. You get to show me off to your new girlfriend." Moriarty said, glancing at Jasmine for a moment, oblivious to the fact that she was crying silently, her head bowed as she mourned for her sister; who she now assumed to be dead.

"Not true." Sherlock enunciated clearly. He was as oblivious as Moriarty was. He handed Moriarty a cup of tea. He went to give Jasmine one, but her head was bowed almost until she was touching her chin with her chest; so he ignored her and put her cup down.

"You're pleased to have me back on the streets." Moriarty grinned, looking up at Sherlock. "Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain." Sherlock shook his head ever-so-slightly. "You need me, or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I- except you're boring." Moriarty nodded, suddenly serious, shaking his head with something akin to disappointment. "You're on the side of the angels."

"You got to the jury, of course." Sherlock said, referring to how on earth Moriarty had managed to be freed.

"I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?" He smirked, satisfied with himself.

"Cable network." Sherlock nodded.

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen..." Jim elaborated. "And every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm."

Jasmine let out a quiet sob, and both pairs of eyes flashed to her. Jim rolled his, while Sherlock remained placid.

"Oh, get her out of the room." Moriarty sighed, impatient. Jasmine did as she was told, rushing to the door, now openly crying, desperate to get away from the two horrible men. They listened to her descending the stairs and slamming the door behind her as she escaped from the flat. Sherlock was glancing at the door, while Jim was smirking at Sherlock's bewildered reaction.

"Shouldn't you go after her? Isn't that what Prince Charming always does when his damsel in distress is... well, in distress?" James smirked, sipping elegantly from his tea. Sherlock snapped his attention away from Jasmine and turned it back to Moriarty.

"I am no Prince. I couldn't care less about her feelings." Sherlock insisted. "And considering that- how are you going to do it? Burn me." He said nonchalantly.

"Oh, that's the problem. The final problem. Haven't you worked out what it is yet? What's the final problem? I did tell you... But did you listen?" He asked, smirking once again.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Jasmine walked down Eaton Square, desperately trying to stop crying. She had an image of Irene happily living a life in America or France, being as elegant as ever but with a more commonplace name like 'Amy Hughes' or 'Taylor Cooper'. She really didn't think Irene was _dead._ Irene didn't suit being dead- she suited being alive and passionate, and well... Irene.

Jasmine, with a shaking hand, put her key into the front door and hurriedly opened it, slamming it shut behind her and tossing the key onto the floor. She put her hands over her face and leaned back onto the door, feeling utterly desolate. She stayed in that position until her knees went numb with supporting her weight, and she wiped her tears away. She slowly walked into her house. The house of a dead girl. Her heels clacked slowly on the pristine marble floors, and she sadly realised that she had left all her things at Sherlock's, meaning she would have to meet up with that ignorant, inconsiderate prick sometime soon. What she needed was a sleep and a cry; time to mourn her dead sister.

She sniffled, miserably going into the bathroom and running herself a scorching hot bath- intending to cleanse herself of all the badness she had been through. She always felt purer after her skin was so red she could be mistaken for a lobster and she was so hot to the touch that she could bake cookies on her arms.

She slid into the water, her tears still flowing without her consent. She didn't like being this pathetic. She had always wanted to be more like Irene- emotionless, dazzling goddess that everyone thought she was. She doubted very much that Irene would cry like this if Jasmine had died. She would drink martini's and have reckless sex with a bartender- she wouldn't cry until her face went puffy in a boiling hot bath. She supposed that she was nothing like her sister- in any way. Sometimes this was a god-send, but others it was a crying shame. She thought she had had the upperhand with Sherlock, but it turned out that he knew all along that Irene was dead. He'd been teasing her, probably laughing at her. For every quip Jasmine made about Sherlock, he was probably adding another day for when he intended to tell her. She felt so mad that she could kill him and feel no remorse. That was something Irene would do, wasn't it...?

The water was freezing when Kate knocked on the bathroom door. Jasmine woke up, flailing wildly against the water, jumping from the icy depths and straight into a warm bath robe. She shivered slightly, opening the bathroom door and poking her head out.

"You may want to put some clothes on. You have a visitor." Kate said gravely, and Jasmine nodded, shutting the door again. She pulled the plug on the bath and sat on the side for a moment, her head once again in her hands. She pulled herself together and tightened the bath robe, leaving the bathroom and walking straight into her living room.

"Get out." She ordered, glaring at Sherlock, who was sitting comfortably on her couch, his hands resting on her blankets.

"I should explain." He began, hesitantly.

"Has John made you come here?" She asked. Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"I haven't spoken to John since your little episode." He commented.

"My episode?!" Jasmine shrieked. "I had just been informed by James Moriarty that my sister died in Karachi!" She yelled, her eyes filling with tears again. Her bottom lip trembled and she looked away. Sherlock stood, carefully walking over to the girl. He towered over her.

"Jasmine, I came here of my own accord..." He began, but she pushed him away weakly. He stepped back and watched her for a moment, trying to calm herself down. "Jasmine- just listen to me..." He tried again.

"You can shut up and you can get out of my house. Why didn't you tell me? You must have known she was dead? You really are a massive, ignorant, horrible, lanky, loutish, _nasty_ man, aren't you?" Jasmine spat venomously. Sherlock sighed, patient- but only just.

"Jasmine-" He tried again, but she interrupted again, causing him to roll his eyes.

"She's dead and you didn't think to tell me?!" She cried, more tears dropping miserably down her cheeks. Once again, she put her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she cried. Sherlock very hesitantly reached a hand out, and opted for patting her on the shoulder. One of her icy cold hands shot out and grabbed his wrist, keeping it there. He assumed it was for something to do with support. "And on top of that- you invited me over to meet your new best friend? Do you not get how sick that is?" She demanded, suddenly having a change of heart and pushing his hand away, glaring up at him.

"She's not dead." Sherlock said quietly, and Jasmine's bleary eyes flashed to meet his.

"What do you mean, she's not dead?" She asked, just as quietly.

"Moriarty thinks she was beheaded in Karachi. That was not the case." Sherlock explained.

"And you know that for certain, yeah?" Jasmine asked sarcastically, not believing a word that came out of his selfish mouth.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Because I was the one who saved her. But never mind me, I'm just an ignorant, nasty, horrible prick, aren't I?" Sherlock asked, glaring down at the girl. He span on his heels and grabbed his jacket and scarf from the couch, where he had placed Jasmine's belongings not ten minutes before. She followed his movements, unsure of whether he was telling the truth or not.

"What do you mean you saved her?" She asked, still quiet. Sherlock ignored her, looping his scarf around his neck, followed by smoothly putting his jacket on, flipping the collar up to obscure his face. He turned to leave, walking out of the living room and into the hallway. Jasmine followed quickly, her bare feet padding on the freezing marble flooring. "Sherlock, don't you dare walk away from me! What do you mean?!" She called, rushing to stop him from slamming the door in her face. She caught it and followed him outside. "Sherlock!" She screeched, fuming again.

"What do you want me to say? Whatever I _do_ say won't matter, because you won't believe me anyway." He said, turning to face her. She abruptly stopped, almost banging into him.

"Tell me." She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Even she, determined and stubborn as she was, couldn't stop herself from shivering as her feet clenched against the cold floor.

"For God sake, you'll get hypothermia." Sherlock muttered, irritated. He gently pulled her by the elbow back inside, pushing her into the living room. "I paid off her executioner in Karachi. It was a lot of money to him, barely anything to me. He let me swap places with him. As I swung to behead your sister, I purposefully missed by a mile, and together we escaped. She's currently in Australia. I am, obviously, ignorant to her new name or what she's doing. But she's safe. And alive. Now, can I go please?" He asked, impatiently, finally looking down at Jasmine. She had a faraway look in her eye as she contemplated him momentarily. She suddenly smiled and jumped up from the couch, locking him in a bear hug that even he couldn't escape.

"Thank you." She muttered into his eyes. Sherlock, bewildered, didn't know what to do. Especially as her bath robe had just become untied.

"You do know your..." He said, his cheeks flushing.

"Yep." Jasmine replied quickly, equally embarrassed. Her eyes were wide open as she felt the bathrobe completely reveal herself. Luckily, Sherlock couldn't see anything as he was enveloped in her surprisingly strong arms. "Feeling, uh, slightly uncomfortable. Um... Close your eyes." She said, her cheeks also flushing. Sherlock did so, closing them incredibly tightly. "Are they shut?" She asked.

"They're shut." Sherlock confirmed. Jasmine quickly let go of Sherlock and pulled her bathrobe back together, tying it quickly. She looked mortified.

"I'm... Uh, I'm done." She told him, pretending to be chirpy. He opened his eyes and they both avoided eye contact. "You can go, if you want." Jasmine sighed, incredibly embarrassed. She sat back down on her couch, feeling slightly overwhelmed after the day's events.

"Yes. Okay. Thanks for that." Sherlock muttered incoherently, before nodding purposefully and striding out of the house.

"Oh God." Jasmine moaned, her head for the final time, falling into her hands.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

_I'm so sorry it's been so long. I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway. Please let me know what you think :-) Love from me to you, as ever. X_


	6. Goodbye Sherlock

Chapter Six: Goodbye Sherlock

Jasmine never was impressed by Sherlock Holmes.

The only time he'd come close to impressing her was when he told her about his saving Irene. And even then- it was more relief than admiration.

Yet, when the news began circulating that Sherlock was a fake- someone who had merely employed Moriarty to add to his little game- Jasmine had a very hard time believing it. She didn't necessarily _like_ Sherlock, but she didn't doubt him being genuine. He was definitely genuine. She tried insisting to the people who hadn't met him, that it was most definitely not an act conjured up; but they didn't believe her. People tend to believe newspapers rather than an unemployed aspiring lawyer.

It all happened very suddenly, Sherlock's death. Less than a month had passed since Jasmine and Sherlock's argument, and suddenly he was throwing himself off the roof of St. Bart's and plummeting to his death, after being outed as a phony. His death became one of those things. People asked you 'Where were you when Sherlock Holmes died?'

Jasmine's answer had to be honest. She was waiting in the living room of 221B Baker Street, waiting to see if the boys were both alright after the violent reaction the news had taken to them. She had switched the TV on to pass the time, only to find that twenty minutes previously, Sherlock had hurled himself from the hospital roof. She remembered how her skin itched and crawled, her mouth opened like she was a goldfish and she fell back slightly. She had not been expecting it at all. She felt uncomfortable, and somewhat wretched.

"Poor John." She said, feeling completely hopeless.

It was Jasmine who broke the news to Mrs Hudson. The landlady had happily let Jasmine into the flat. She came up half an hour after Jasmine found out about the awful news to see if she wanted a cup of tea.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson. Something's happened." Jasmine said, turning miserably to the old lady. Her polite smile fell slightly, and she nervously anticipated Jasmine's following words. "Sherlock... He... Um... Sherlock just committed suicide." She explained sadly, rushing to Mrs Hudson's side and putting an arm around her.

"Don't be silly." Mrs Hudson tutted, clearly in denial. She peered around Jasmine to try and see the TV, but Jasmine turned her away.

"You don't want to see that, Mrs Hudson. It's not very pleasant at all. Why don't you sit down. I'll make you a cup of tea. Are you okay?" Jasmine asked, bustling her into the boys' kitchen and sitting her down.

"Are you sure it's him?" Mrs Hudson asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

"He jumped from the roof of St Barts." Jasmine said, pausing as she filled the kettle up. She watched as Mrs Hudson's expression turned from one of disbelief to one of sheer pain.

"Oh, my little Sherlock." She gasped, pressing her shaky hands to her cheeks. The tears began to fall then, and Jasmine hurriedly put the kettle down, going once more to embrace the lady. But Mrs Hudson had rushed from the room before she had chance, faster than she had moved in decades, all in an attempt to get away from the bearer of bad news.

"Oh dear." Jasmine sighed, leaning against the kitchen side. Of course, she felt bad. Awful, actually. But she felt worse for those left behind than she did for Sherlock.

That night, Jasmine couldn't stop worrying about John all alone in 221B Baker Street. Surrounded by his best friend's things, his chemistry equipment, his clothes, his books. His violin on the table. His sheet music cluttering every surface available. She did try to stay away. She wanted to give him his privacy, his time alone to grieve. But she couldn't help herself. She left before her reasoning could stop her, and she rushed to the nearest Chinese and bought them both some food. She also bought a few bottles of wine. She wasn't sure whether John would be grateful or whether he would hurl her out of his flat. They barely knew each other, after all. Who was she to intrude on his bereavement? Well, quite frankly, a friend.

And so Jasmine, bags in hands, hesitantly knocked on the door to 221.

"You can bugger off!" Mrs Hudson screeched from inside. Clearly, she'd been harassed with paparazzi over the course of the day.

"Mrs Hudson, it's Jasmine Adler." Jasmine called, moving closer to the door so the lady could hear her.

She stepped back when she heard the chain being unbolted. Mrs Hudson opened the door, looking sadder than anyone Jasmine had seen before.

"Oh, Jasmine. I apologise for running away like that, before. But Sherlock was like my son, or my brother, you see?" Mrs Hudson ushered the girl inside, slamming the door shut behind them and bolting the chain again.

"Mrs Hudson, please don't worry about it. I completely understand. And I'm so sorry." Jasmine said sincerely, hugging the lady. Mrs Hudson hugged her back.

"Have you come to see John?" Mrs Hudson asked miserably, sniffling as she began to cry again.

"Yeah. Is that alright? I'm not trying to get gossip or anything, I've brought him some food." Jasmine explained, holding up the bags as evidence.

"Oh, I don't know, love. His sister tried coming around before, but he didn't want to see her. Try anyway love, but he's grieving. Don't be offended if he turns you away." Mrs Hudson said.

"I brought you food too. Here." Jasmine said, handing over a bag of Italian food. Mrs Hudson smiled gratefully.

"Thank you Jasmine. He's up there." She said, before tottering away to her own flat. She would have joined them both, but she wanted to be alone. She didn't want them to see her crying.

Jasmine ascended the stairs, tentatively knocking on the door. John opened, bleary eyed with a stoned expression.

"I brought you some food. Thought you might like some company." Jasmine said. John didn't say anything. "Or not... But here. I didn't know what you like so I got you a few things. And some wine. John, are you okay?" She finally asked, stopping her verbal procrastination and diving right in.

"Not really." John said, his voice breaking slightly.

"Do you want me to come in?" Jasmine asked. John looked at the floor, shuffling his feet, before sullenly nodding. Jasmine smiled at him and walked into the flat. She walked through straight into the kitchen, where she grimaced at the eyeballs peering up at her from a dish by the sink. She got plates out and began loading their food onto them, as well as pouring their wine into glasses. She put everything on a tray and carried it into the living room, where she found John sat on the floor, leaning against Sherlock's chair, simply staring at the fireplace. She sat down next to him, both of their legs outstretched towards the fire. John silently accepted the food, while Jasmine got on her knees to the fire and turned it on, aware that the flat was very cold.

She sat back and they both ate their food in silence. Little did Jasmine know, but this silent companionship was making John feel ever-so-slightly better. When they finished, they simply sat together.

"He called me. He said he was leaving a suicide note. On top of St Barts. The paramedics told me that Moriarty shot himself in the head. But I saw Sherlock do it. I saw him jump. He told me everything about him was a lie. He said he's not really a genius at all. He lied to me before he killed himself." John said after about twenty minutes of mournful silence. Jasmine turned to him.

"At least we know it was a lie." Jasmine said quietly.

"Yeah." John agreed. "It's hard to believe that he's dead. It feels like he should be here, playing his violin at four in the bloody morning or leaving severed arms and feet on the dining table." Jasmine smiled, placing her hand gently over his, resting on the floor.

"I'll go and clean up." Jasmine said, picking up their plates and springing to her feet.

"You don't have to do that." John frowned, going to stand up also, but Jasmine sent him a look.

"I want to." She insisted, and he nodded and sat back down. She took the plates into the kitchen and began to wash them up. It was then that the noticed the pristine white envelope tucked behind the kettle. She frowned, drying her hands on a towel absently, before picking it up. It was addressed to her, in a beautiful flourishing script handwriting.

She opened it carefully, not wanting to rip whatever was inside. It was a note, on thick white paper.

'_To Jasmine,_

_Do not tell John about this letter. In fact, don't tell anybody about it. I have a strong suspicion that John will be upset about my death. If this is the case, then please, look after him. It will get easier for him when he stops __romanticising__ me and __realises__ that I am not a very nice person; certainly not someone good enough to be John Watson's friend. Just make sure he's okay. I also have a strong suspicion that Jim Moriarty is as dead as I am, but his henchmen will still be knocking about. Be careful; and send a similar warning to John, __Mrs__ Hudson, Molly Hooper and Graham __Lestrade__. _

_I __apologise__ for any inconvenience caused and I thank you for helping me._

_Yours, etc._

_Sherlock Holmes.'_

"It's Greg Lestrade you imbecile." Jasmine smiled sadly, sliding the letter back into the envelope and hiding it in the pocket of her dress. "Quite impressive that you knew I would be here, though." She allowed, nodding appreciatively and going back to finish the washing up.

_The following day_

Molly Hooper, yellow roses in the crook of her arm, walked up to the door of221 Baker Street. She went to knock on the door, but decided against it and walked away. Only to change her mind once more and go to knock. She hesitated, but simply went for it. She instantly regretted it, and began to wonder whether she should just leave. She was bound to let slip about where Sherlock was... (Surprise John! Sherlock's not dead! Yay!)

A weary looking Mrs Hudson answered the door. Molly opened her mouth to speak but Mrs H simply waved it away. She knew. She walked Molly to the stairs, patted her on the shoulder before wandering back into the solitary confines of her flat. Molly sighed and continued walking up the stairs, shuffling the roses in her arm to ensure they didn't fall.

She quietly knocked on the door, hoping that John wouldn't hear and consequently wouldn't open the door. Her prayers were answered. She began to walk away, but felt this immense guilt. John could have done something drastic, and she would be denying her role as a friend if she didn't go and check up on him. She twisted the door handle, and walked into the quiet flat.

It was boiling hot, that she knew for certain. The fire was on. She frowned, and went to turn it off. As she did so, she saw John and an unknown girl curled up on the floor, apparently having simply fallen asleep where they were sat. A blanket was draped over them both, but had been pushed off the girl during the night- probably due to the heat. The girl herself was brunette with a very unusual nose. Probably John's new girlfriend. He always seemed to have a new girlfriend.

"John." Molly said quietly, noting that the time was nearly twelve noon. John stirred but simply shuffled himself around and went back to sleep. "John." She said again, louder. Once again, John didn't wake up. But the girl did. She blinked heavily, her doe eyes indicating how tired she still was. Her eyes adjusted to the light and as she took in the image of a worried Molly Hooper staring down at her, she jumped up, somewhat unnerved.

"Who are you?!" Jasmine hissed, thinking her to be a burglar.

"I'm John's friend. I came to give him these." Molly whispered back, brandishing the flowers. Jasmine nodded understandingly, took one glance at the sleeping John and decided it was best to leave him be.

"Kitchen?" Jasmine asked ,and Molly nodded. They both walked into the kitchen, where Jasmine quietly shut the door.

"So um... Who are you?" Molly smiled nervously.

"Jasmine Adler." Jasmine said breezily, hunting through the kitchen for a vase for the beautiful roses.

"Oh, Sherlock wrote a letter for you yesterday. Did you get it?" Molly asked, leaning against the side.

"Yeah, but nobody's supposed to know apparently." Jasmine sighed, locating a dusty unused vase- probably an old one of Mrs Hudson's. She washed it out and filled it with crisp, clean water. She propped the roses in there to ensure they didn't wilt.

"He's very secretive like that." Molly said, before shaking her head furiously. "_Was _secretive like that. Sorry." She frowned.

"It's okay. Denial. It's part of the grievance cycle. I know all about it." Jasmine assured her, grabbing the kettle and going to fill it up.

"So, you're John's new girlfriend, then?" Molly asked, attempting to make small talk. Jasmine smirked.

"Nope. I'm a friend. Of his and of Sherlock's." Jasmine explained, flicking the kettle on and getting three mugs out. "Tea?" She asked. Molly nodded mournfully. Jasmine began making them all a cup of tea. "John's really shook up. Barely said two words to me last night. We must have just conked out." Jasmine sighed, finger-combing her unruly bedhead hair back from her eyes.

"It's an awful thing to have happened. Poor boys. They were practically inseparable." Molly said shiftily. Jasmine nodded in agreement. The kettle clicked off and Jasmine finished making their tea. She handed Molly a cup, and she got a warm smile in return. Jasmine carried John's with her as they walked into the living room. He was already awake, sat up against the couch again.

"Morning." Jasmine said calmly. John nodded.

"Morning." He replied, his voice croaky and lethargic.

"Here." She said, handing him the tea. He accepted it mutely.

"Morning John." Molly said brightly, but a tinge of worry was present in her tone.

"Molly." He nodded.

"I just came to bring you flowers and to say how sorry I am for your loss. I'll leave you to it." Molly smiled awkwardly, making her way to the door.

"Thank you." John stuttered. Molly paused for a second, her smile totally gone as she tried to grapple with her guilt. She continued out the door without another word.

"I'll get going too. I'll bring you some food tonight, if you want?" Jasmine asked gently. "I don't have to stay again, I'll just bring it and leave. Just make sure you're okay." Jasmine assured him.

"You don't have to." John said, his voice still coarse.

"I want to." Jas insisted. John nodded, acquiescing. Jasmine smiled her goodbye, gathered her belongings, finished her tea and left. As she shut the door, John realised how alone he was.


End file.
